


Kamar-Taj Drabble Challenge: Flying Too Close To The Sun

by ruffaled



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Canon Divergence - Doctor Strange (2016), Drama & Romance, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Freeform, Gen, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Multi, Not Doctor Strange (2016) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Doctor Strange (2016), Romance, Some Plot, Soulmates, Tragic Romance, because why not?, mcu canon mixed with marvel 616 canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruffaled/pseuds/ruffaled
Summary: Karl, Wong and Stephen navigate the challenges of an infinite multiverse and come to an understanding over the fragility of human lives.For the Kamar-Taj Drabble Challenge: Write one hundred new drabbles based offone hundred promptsfocusing on Doctor Strange and Marvel | MCU characters and ships.
Relationships: Karl Mordo & Stephen Strange, Karl Mordo & Wong, Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange, Karl Mordo/Wong
Kudos: 51
Collections: Kamar Taj Drabbles





	1. Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The goal was to write 100 hundred-word drabbles but since I am incapable of brevity, these are just ficlets ranging between 200 to 500-words. The focus of each drabble is on either Karl Mordo (the MCU version played by the inimitable and brilliant Chiwetel Ejiofor) or Wong or Stephen Strange, exploring their relationship to one another.
> 
> For the [Kamar-Taj Drabble Challenge](https://strordo.tumblr.com/post/627418931477528576/kamar-taj-drabbles-challenge): Write one hundred new drabbles based off one hundred prompts focusing on Doctor Strange and Marvel | MCU characters and ships. See prompts below.

01\. Hands | 02\. Lullaby | 03\. City | 04\. Belong | 05\. Bookshop | 06\. Friendship | 07\. Scars  
---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
08\. Guilt | 09\. Lost | 10\. Solitude | 11\. Forgiveness | 12\. Marionette | 13\. **[Photographs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64247911)** | 14\. Sacrifice  
15\. Nostalgia | 16\. Alcohol | 17\. **[Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/70231212)** | 18\. Honour | 19\. Aurora | 20\. Dawn | 21\. [Epitaph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/66260848)  
22\. Nightmares | 23\. **[Funeral](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64248232)** | 24\. Peace | 25\. [Reconciliation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/73461216) | 26\. Phone Call | 27\. Eternity | 28\. Secrets  
29\. Shackles | 30\. **[Thunderstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64247416)** | 31\. Insanity | 32\. Betrayal | 33\. **[Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64248694)** | 34\. Hallucinations | 35\. Afterlife  
36\. Demons | 37\. Youth | 38\. Solstice | 39\. Fire | 40\. Death | 41\. Puppy love | 42\. War  
43\. Tease | 44\. Touch | 45\. Innocence | 46\. Lucky Charm | 47\. Magic | 48\. Journey | 49\. Addicted  
50\. Time | 51\. Reality | 52\. Mind | 53\. Soul | 54\. Power | 55\. Space | 56\. Compromise  
57\. Lies | 58\. Choices | 59\. Euphoria | 60\. Languor | 61\. Curiosities | 62\. Epiphany | 63\. **[Strangers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64249129)**  
64\. Clear skies | 65\. Stalk | 66\. Dance | 67\. Rain | 68\. Hurt | 69\. Danger | 70\. Hospital  
71\. Summer | 72\. Spring | 73\. Autumn | 74\. Winter | 75\. Snow | 76\. Date | 77\. Agony  
78\. Pancakes | 79\. Embrace | 80\. Bruise | 81\. Forest | 82\. Kathmandu | 83\. Street Food | 84\. Laughter  
85\. Speechless | 86\. Kindness | 87\. Honeymoon | 88\. Mistletoe | 89\. Charity | 90\. **[Self Prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64249480)** | 91\. **[Self Prompt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376886/chapters/64895179)**  
92\. Self Prompt | 93\. Self Prompt | 94\. Self Prompt | 95\. Self Prompt | 96\. Self Prompt | 97\. Self Prompt | 98\. Self Prompt  
99\. Self Prompt | 100\. Self Prompt |  |  |  |  | 


	2. Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Photographs. An old polaroid and a thousand memories. (Stephen Strange)

After averting another world-ending catastrophe by stopping Mephisto from unleashing Hell on Earth, Stephen returned to Kamar-Taj for a nightcap.

He waited in Wong's office. The librarian, now the head of the Order, had been called away for his counsel on an emergency.

Stephen hated waiting. The stillness made him jumpy. So, he rose to his feet and shuffled around the small, confined space, picking up to examine trinkets that made Wong, _Wong_.

He appreciated his friend's eccentric tastes in books, music, art, his fascination with collecting idols of Ganesha in various shapes and sizes whenever he popped across the border on formal business.

As Stephen searched the office for a new distraction, he found a leather-bound journal on the third bookshelf to the left, its dark cover blending against the wood.

Looking closely at the gold-embossed letters on the cover, Stephen felt the air knocked out of his chest.

 _Karl Amadeus Mordo_. Written in cursive, almost regal in the way the letters stretched across the leathery surface. It was a journal.

 _Thanks, Captain Obvious_ , a disembodied voice supplied.

Behind him, the cloak hugged Stephen's shoulders just a little tighter. Opening a dead man's journal without invitation felt like a gross violation of privacy.

_He was a criminal._

_He was a friend._

"Shut the fuck up," Stephen hissed to the empty room and slammed the journal back on the shelf. Or tried to — but, his jerky movements knocked it over to the floor. As he bent down to pick it up, he noticed an old polaroid that fell out of the diary.

Inhaling deep, Stephen reached for it. There would be no way back, no way to undo, to unsee what he was—thoughts left him as he stared at the photograph in his shaking hands: Karl looked no older than 20 at most. He wore the same boyish grin Stephen had come to love since they first met years later on the busy streets of Kathmandu and began a turbulent, short-lived friendship that was always destined to end in tragedy.

Karl's eyes shone bright, missing all of the baggage the man bore in his later years. Next to him stood Kaecilius, young, smiling, so different from the man who had tried to murder him and end the world.

It dawned on Stephen that he was holding something rare, something precious, something untainted by pain, regret, guilt — all of which he bore in droves and, somehow, it felt like he was soiling the photograph's innocence by just touching it.

Taking one last look at the photograph, its presence permanently etched into memory, Stephen whispered. "I hope you've finally beaten your demons and found peace, Karl. Wherever you are."

Putting the photograph back inside the journal, he returned it to the bookshelf and went back to his seat, his heart heavy, his mind sinking into nostalgia, craving a stiff drink that would help him forget.

Sighing, Stephen waited for Wong.


	3. Thunderstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstorm. A storm approaches before the day of reckoning. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)

"There's a storm coming. I can feel it."

Stephen sat up on the bed. Karl stood by the open window, back facing him.

A gentle breeze blew through the room, scattering old pages from a grimoire onto the carpet, which bore stains as old as Stephen; the curtains rustled in the air and the door shook at its hinge — the flat was falling apart but it was home. _Their_ home.

"Come back to bed," Stephen said.

"I can't sleep."

Silence hung heavy in the air until the rain came and washed away the world's rot and sowed life into quenching soil, hammered rooftops and squeezed between window sills.

"They will show mercy." The words sounded hollow, lacking the usual conviction and confidence with which Stephen faced interdimensional threats every day. "The Vishanti are not without reason."

"I do not regret my actions." Karl turned, obstinate as ever. Stormy eyes hinted at his internal conflict, the way his shoulders hunched and his fists, clenched.

Stephen wanted to help but it was a battle Karl would face alone — as Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen had already vouched for his friend and mentor, pled for mercy to the higher powers, insisting until his mouth ran dry that it was the Ancient One's betrayal that had pushed Karl down a dark path. Stealing magic wasn't natural and the man _he_ knew would never stoop so low.

He prayed to whatever god that may have been listening for Karl to realise that before the trial began on the first light at dawn.

But if Stephen had learned anything about the man, it was Karl's immeasurable stubbornness.

"It doesn't matter what you think of your actions. They were wrong in the eyes of the law. We are _trying_ to save you from a death sentence. So, for once, stop being a stubborn fool and cooperate."

Karl's smile looked defeated as if he had given up and embraced the inevitable. The Vishanti were going to obliterate him as punishment but he wouldn't go down bowing his head in supplication — no one knew what Karl planned but knowing him, it would get messy. Bloody.

Stephen wanted to scream.

Outside, the wind picked up speed; the grimoire lay scattered on the carpet like dry leaves in Fall; the door rattled on its hinges and the smell of petrichor hung heavy in the air.

"There's a storm coming."


	4. Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funeral. Two sorcerers mourn their fallen friend. (Karl Mordo & Wong)

"Did he suffer?"

Two hooded figures stood overlooking rolling alpine meadows dotted with wildflowers as the Carpathian mountain range loomed in the horizon. The last of the daylight was fading.

"I cannot say. We were separated."

The man on the left sighed and continued, "He knew what he was getting into."

Behind them, a small pyre burned in desolation, the fire crackled against the wood as the wind carried orange embers through the air.

In place of a body, the fire consumed little trinkets: mostly old Polaroid photographs of people smiling, some of whom were gone for good, others left without saying goodbye.

The man on the right knelt on the grass.

"I should've been there. Look at this. The universe is broken, half of all life wiped out in a blink and he—he's dead, we don't even have a _fucking_ body to cremate."

"Perhaps it could've improved our odds. But, this was cosmic fate, your presence wouldn't have stopped it from happening."

"You don't believe that."

"I don't, but that doesn't make it untrue."

Silence wound tight over them. The air felt crisp with evening's approach.

"Trust Stephen, Karl. He wouldn't have gambled the universe if he didn't have a plan."

The man on the right sighed, buried his face into his palms. "I am going to kill him," he said, then looked up at his companion. "If he comes back from this, Wong, I am going to put him on that fucking pyre and burn him myself."

The other man laughed at the hollow threat. "He missed you too."


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home. Stephen finds his home in the most unexpected of places. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)

After watching Karl walk away in Hong Kong, Stephen spent six weeks travelling, if only to avoid for a little longer the inevitable emptiness in the room next to his at Kamar-Taj.

"I need a break," he had told Wong on a busy crowded night street in Kowloon where everyone remained blissfully unaware of how the world was saved from the brink of destruction. "I think I have earned it."

Stephen knew Wong wasn't stupid. The librarian had to have known that _something_ went down in the dark dimension that forced a cosmic entity as old as Dormammu to yield.

Sparing Wong the details of his ordeal seemed like the best course of action after the former nodded in agreement. "Take your time but _do_ come home. We have already lost too much," Wong had said.

Stephen made his way through North Asia before travelling down to Southeast Asia, spending a week at Halong Bay, counting stars from the deck of a boat anchored in the open sea. He watched exquisite sunrises at Angkor Wat, soaked up the pristine waters of Langkawi, tasted the mouthwatering delicacies of Singapore and breathed in the volcanic air of Mount Agung.

By the time he came back to Kamar-Taj, the weather turned with Winter's approaching march.

Refusing dinner, he headed for his room, expecting it to be dark, empty, full of dust motes and cobwebs. Instead, he smelled freshly baked bread, the pleasant jasmine scent of candles and the quiet, melancholic tunes of Mahler: Karl's favourite.

"What the fuck—" Stephen began but the words faded from his tongue.

Karl stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips and a playful look of disapproval on his face.

"Really, _Doctor_ , a dereliction of duty to fulfil your wanderlust is unbecoming of the future Sorcerer Supreme. I expect to see you at the courtyard tomorrow at dawn for your sparring lessons."

Stephen wanted to say a thousand things but all he could do was to close the distance between them and pull Karl into an embrace that knocked the breath out him. He held the man tight, as if making sure Karl didn't suddenly disappear if he let go. "I thought you left for good, thought I lost you."

"I am here now. I am _home_."


	6. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wong seeks out a familiar stranger (Karl Mordo & Wong)

Wong watched from a corner as the man studied the items on the shelf. Breakfast spreads. Thirty-two different types that reflected society's love for the excess, yet, he knew precisely which item would get taken off the shelf, paid for, and brought back to a cosy one-bedroom just on the outskirts of Varf Mandra.

It wasn't the first time Wong had made a detour to Eastern Europe en route to the New York Sanctum. And every time, the outcome was always the same: a self-inflicted heartbreak.

He followed the man to the next aisle, grateful for a crowded supermarket where he could disappear in a sea of patrons — though, in his fitted maroon robes, he stood out like a sore thumb.

The man had moved on to examine brands of ghee; there were only three types to choose from.

Unable to help himself, Wong shuffled forward. "This one, it's the best," he said, pointing to the second bottle on the shelf. The man picked it up and examined the writing on the packaging.

"Thanks," the man said, his grin wide and familiar. "I'm not much of a ghee connoisseur but something told me I just had to get some. I don't even know how to cook with it."

_You loved ghee on your chapatis and between us, we'd go through a whole jar in just a month_ , Wong thought. _Before you went ahead and ruined everything. I should hate you, but I feel sorry for you._

"You okay there, friend?" The man peered at Wong as if checking for any visible signs of something not quite in its place.

Wong smiled. Or at least tried to, it came off as a little standoffish but was overshadowed by the man's friendly grin. It was as if he was looking at a whole new person — perhaps, this _was_ the man that Wong, in the fifteen years he had with him, never got to discover underneath all the layers of pain, violence and heavy emotional baggage. It was a man Wong thought he could be friends with, the best of friends. Maybe even more. 

"Sorry," Wong said when he regained composure and trusted his voice to not break. "It's just—you remind me of someone. A dear friend. He loved his ghee too. A little too much, if you ask me, but he never let it get to his waist and wouldn't tell me his secret."

The man's grin dipped into a small smile. "You speak of him in the past."

"He's...been away."

"And you wait for his return?"

_You can't come back. The Vishanti took your memories and your magic and spared your life. I called in every favour I owed to save your life, and it is my punishment that I am no more than a stranger to you_ , Wong thought as he took in the curiosity in the man's eyes. With a tight-lipped smile, he said, "He isn't coming back."

"I am so sorry to hear that. Wherever your friend is, I hope he has found peace."

"He has."

"Good. I am Karl by the way."

"Wong."

"Well, Wong, it's nice meeting you. I have to go, have a few errands to run. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

_You won't._

As the man retreated, Wong called out. "Eat it with chapati. You know? South Asian flatbread. You can probably find the recipe on the Internet, I think you'd like it."

The man looked over his shoulders and nodded. "Thanks for the tip."

Wong watched Karl walk away from him once more — watching the retreating back of his best friend, made a stranger by circumstances, became the only constant in his life.

"I miss you," he whispered. 


	7. Author's Choice: Mister Doctor Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark invited Stephen Strange to entertain his daughter's birthday party. Things naturally did not go according to plan. (Stephen Strange & Wong)
> 
> Based on this [Jimmy Kimmel skit](https://discordapp.com/channels/717282192904159263/717288560914464838/753059473765171261) and prompted by the wonderful [Beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle).

As soon as Stephen returned to the Sanctum, Wong set on him.

"You better have an explanation for why the Avengers have declared war on us."

Stephen brushed him off. Trust Stark and his attack dogs to blow things out of proportion. _Pfft_.

"Stark is a delicate flower and I have apparently offended his sensibilities."

Behind him, the cloak _huffed_. It still amazed him how humanlike a sentient piece of outerwear could behave, but Stephen had more pressing things on hand. Namely, the dubious look on Wong's face. _And_ , he crossed his arms. It was never a good sign when the owner of Kamar-Taj's Best Poker Face had his arms crossed — it usually spelt trouble for Stephen.

With a long sigh, while throwing his hands up in resignation, Stephen said, "All right, fine. He told a room full of snot-nosed brats that I was a magician. They were expecting me to make balloon animals and one of them had the audacity to call my crimson bands of Cyttorak _lame_. That brat has _no_ idea how much concentration and effort it takes to muster the spell correctly and he had the gall to disparage it. The sheer nerve."

Wong's arms stayed crossed. _Well, fuck_. "I may have dropped Stark's kid and her friends in a hell dimension. But honestly, they were in there for like a second before I pulled them right out. Trust Mr Iron Pants to overreact, they were never in any real danger," Stephen said, scoffing.

"You put a group of children in a hell dimension," Wong spoke slowly, enunciating every word, his tone dripping with silent rage and incredulity. "I would ask what in the Vishanti's name were you thinking but I know the moment you open your mouth, I will end up killing you."

Fair point.

"None of you have any sense of humour. All this modern-day codling is making the younger generation soft. Karl never had any problems when I took Astrid to hell dimensions."

"Astrid is part demon, you imbecile."

Again, a fair point.

"Well, it's not my fault no demoness wants to procreate with Stark—"

"Get out. Do not come back here until I have handled the Avengers. Go, _now._ "

Stephen really was taken aback by the sternness in Wong's voice. The severity of his actions was beginning to dawn on him and, maybe, Astrid Mordo was just a special kid unlike Stark's progeny and her friends. Maybe it was time to pay his favourite father-and-not-a-toddler-anymore-daughter duo a visit.

"If you need me, I'll be in Varf Mandra where parents at least have a sense of humour."

Stephen ducked into the portal just as he heard something — probably a shoe, but it sounded sharp and metallic — crash on the spot where he stood moments ago.


	8. Author's Choice: Solicited Advances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen's insecure about his feelings for Karl. Tony Stark and James Rhodes don't help. At all. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I think I have just given up on sticking to the word count entirely. Next chapter should revert back to the max. 300 words limit - emphasis on _should_.

Stephen adjusted Karl's lapels and said, “I should warn you. Stark has zero shame and would probably try to feel you up. Rhodes is more subtle but he’s still a touchy-feely bastard.”

“Hmmm.”

It had been a sensitive topic since the gold-embossed invitation to the annual Stark-Rhodes charity gala arrived at 177A Bleecker Street, delivered personally by an unmanned Iron Man suit.

“Not that I care, I just thought since this is your first gala in New York and all, you should be warned. I mean it doesn’t matter to _me_ , personally, if you chose to entertain their advances but—” Stephen smoothed a hand over the lapels and reached for the pocket square. Despite his nonchalance, his stiff shoulder and tight-lipped expression gave away the truth: He very much _cared_ about unsolicited advances from the Avengers towards Karl Mordo, his mentor, teacher, friend and the leading star of the many wet dreams he’s had since arriving at Kamar-Taj five years ago.

Normally, Stephen would not have hesitated in making his advances — the man was a _B_ _aron_ , for god’s sake. That was as close to royalty as Stephen would get after once embarrassing a British Duke at a medical conference in Cambridge. In his defence, he had no defence. The Duke was an uptight prick obsessed with Britain's class division.

Before Stephen could make his move by serenading Karl under a full moon with some good old-fashioned New York pizza, dripping grease all over the box, accompanied by a bottle of the finest Pinot his non-union job as the Master of the New York Sanctum could afford, with Mahler’s melancholy bursting from an old, possibly haunted record player that he had found in the attic, he was made aware of a potential problem.

Karl had an ex. And that said ex was the newly minted Sorcerer Supreme.

Though many at Kamar-Taj _swore_ that Karl and Wong’s separation had been amicable, and that the Sorcerer Supreme, who had a newfound fascination with Mahler’s alleged descendent, Beyoncé, would willingly give his blessings, Stephen dated around enough to know that was nothing but a barefaced lie. And so, rather than to incur the Sorcerer Supreme’s wrath for something _other_ than overdue library books, Stephen chose to admire from afar.

The most he allowed himself was to pick Karl’s suit for the gala from Macy’s and adjust his collars and his pocket square.

“How would you feel if I were to entertain their advances tonight?” Karl asked, breaking Stephen's train of thought. 

_This is a trap. Thisisatrap. Thisisatrapthisisatrapthisisatrap,_ his mind supplied.

He shrugged. “Eh. Doesn’t matter to me. Just don’t go starting shit with the Avengers because I don’t want your ex to blame me for bringing to this _damn_ party.”

“Wong wouldn’t care.”

“Not my problem.” Another barefaced lie but Stephen was getting good at acting nonchalant, to the point his behaviour earned him Karl's frown. That stung but he’d rather disappoint Karl than to piss off someone entrusted with the Earth’s protection _and_ had the word “supreme” in his newly promoted job title.

***

They spent the short distance from the New York Sanctum to the Avengers Tower in utter silence at the back of a yellow taxi.

The gala was as extravagant as one would expect from New York’s richest billionaire and his decorated military husband, who was a true-blue American hero.

At the building's entrance, they were greeted by a waiter who took their coats. Another showed up to offer them flutes of champagne that probably cost more than what both of their kidneys would fetch in the black market. A third one ushered them from the foyer to the lift lobby — the party, as it turned out, was happening on the 80th floor. 

Stephen was secretly pleased with the look of disgust on Karl's face.

It wasn’t that the other man didn’t have any wealth. Being a Romanian aristocrat who came from an old, established family meant he had _at least_ a few castles under his name, but Karl never showed off his fortune. Stephen found that infuriating, especially at times when he had to dig into the depth of his jeans for change to buy lunch for two.

“Get ready because trouble at twelve o'clock, approaching fast,” Stephen said to Karl as soon as the lift brought them up to the ballroom on the 80th floor. Stark spotted them and was walking over; Rhodes was probably lurking nearby, ready to launch a surprise attack.

When they saw Stark momentarily accosted by another guest, Stephen, with a deep breath, said, "It’s time for me to come clean. I am sorry.”

It earned him a confused look from his companion. He hadn't meant to keep it a secret for as long as he did, but his pride prevented him from confessing to Karl more than a month ago when they had received the invitation to the gala.

“On one of the missions I went with them, I may have said that you and I were dating. No one believed me, they thought—well a lot of people…they think you and I are not very compatible and I guess—” God, that was embarrassing. Stephen's mortification was made worse by Karl's blank expression as he processed the former's confession. 

“I was an idiot, okay? I don't know what came over me, what compelled me to blurt out that you and I were a thing and they invited us here tonight to prove that I was lying all this time. That's why they're planning to flirt with you, hoping you'd entertain it. Karl you have every right to be mad, I am sorry I got you involved and I am going to come clean—”

Someone cut him off. “Come clean about what?”

Stephen and Karl turned to find Rhodes standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, barely hiding the gleeful look. He even paused to give Karl a once over, which made Stephen's teeth grind. _Back the fuck off_ , he wanted to say, but that would only complicate his already ruined friendship. Of course Karl wouldn’t want anything to do with him, not after he revealed himself to be a liar who had taken advantage of their relationship and let a lie fester for months just to one up the Avengers.

By then, Stark caught up with them and threw his arms around both Stephen and Karl, despite being a good head shorter than the two of them.

“Good evening, gents. So glad my favourite superhero couple could make it this evening. We are going to have plenty of fun, aren't we?”

Stephen sighed, ready to be lead to the guillotine where his reputation would be executed in public display, after which he would become a pariah in the whole Tristate area. The elites wouldn't care that he had saved the world once or twice, and the superhero community already thought of him as one of those weird magic users who probably enjoyed sex with tentacled aliens — Stephen had never bothered to correct them and the rumour had taken a life of its own three years ago. The Cloak of Levitation was about to become his _only_ friend. 

What happened next was something that jumped straight out of Stephen's wet dreams: Karl, albeit politely, pushed Stark’s arm away and gave Rhodes his sweetest yet most unnerving smile and said, “As much fun as you are promising me tonight, my boyfriend has promised to triple it and I am not a gambling man, sirs, so I like to place my bets in safe places."

Stephen blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Words formed halfway on his tongue but not a sound left his lips. Did he hear Karl right?

"So, while I am here for the photo op and to cut a cheque for your generous cause, I fully intend to return home with this man who owns both my heart and my soul," Karl said, patting Stephen's back. Stark and Rhodes looked stunned; in fact, Stark looked as if he was about to protest but had lost track of the words he wanted to say out loud. Karl continued: "I feel parched. Come on, Stephen, my love, let’s get a drink. We shall see you gentlemen later for the photo op.”

Stephen didn’t have time to gloat, not when he was still collecting his own jaws off the floor at Karl's response. He let the other man guide him away towards the bar.

On their way, Karl said, "For the record, I have a written consent form signed by Wong right here." He tapped his left breast pocket. "You can read it later but the gist of it is that he gives his blessings for us to date, so, you can stop looking from afar and stop getting into pissing contests with the Avengers." Stephen nodded. "Oh, and he told me to remind you that he wouldn't hesitate to eviscerate you if you fail to return your books on time or damage them in any way. Or, the Vishanti forbid, lose them." 

Stephen could only laugh. He'd gladly accept all of Wong's punishment as long as he had Karl to return home to. 


	9. Epitaph

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epitaph. Stephen struggles for words because he isn't ready to say goodbye. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)
> 
> Warning: Major Character Death implied

Stephen stopped writing and stared at the messy scribble in front of him. He let out the breath he had been holding in and crumpled the paper, tossed it to the floor where it joined the dozen other sheets that had earlier been discarded with the same careless abandon.

"Think. Just a few words. You've overcome worse, you survived residency for fuck's sake."

The pep talk proved futile and the pile on the carpet grew bigger.

Surviving four years of neurosurgery residency, a fatal car crash, destitution and facing off a cosmic entity older than time itself before 50 did little to inspire the words. They refused to flow. Stuck and exhausted, Stephen stifled a yawn.

Checking the clock on his desk, he noticed it was half-past three in the morning. Where did the time go? The funeral was due to start in five hours and he needed to deliver the words to the sculptor in three.

"He saved my life," Stephen said, breaking the room's suffocating silence.

As soon as he had said it, a disembodied voice bit back. _His actions decimated the order._

Stephen retorted: "He was kind, he cared. Without him, I'd have died."

_Without him, Pangborn would still be walking._

"He was my teacher, he taught me everything I know."

_Except how to save Wong's mind._

"That was an accident, he didn't mean to," Stephen protested. 

The voice laughed, cruel and unkind. It made Stephen's skin crawl. Yes, _if he didn't miss, we'd be arranging Wong's funeral too._

"I refuse to believe he was a bad man—"

_He tried to kill you. Many times._

"—He lost his way."

_He sought power, he wanted control. Just like Kaecilius._

"He gave up his life to save the world."

_After pushing it toward damnation._

"Shut _up_ ," Stephen snapped. 

Someone knocked on the door and moments later, it opened to reveal Jericho Drumm. "All right there, Strange?"

Stephen nodded, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. "Just tired," he said and hoped it would get the other man to leave. The houngan supreme's presence always unsettled him, as if Drumm could look into his eyes and read his very soul. Stephen had no doubts he'd last less than a minute in a battle against Drumm. 

"Try to get some rest, we have a long day ahead."

Drumm left him alone to his thoughts. When the door closed, Stephen picked up the pen. Seven years after the accident, his hands still shook but his grip had improved through practice and perseverance — enough to let him write short sentences by hand.

"You're wrong," he said to the empty room. "He knew his mistakes and he helped us to atone for them. We wouldn't have stood a chance against the Shuma Gorath if he wasn't on our side."

The disembodied voice remained silent.

"Death is not the end of the road for us and neither is it permanent. I _will_ find a way to bring him back," he said and began to scribble. This time, the words flew uninterrupted:

_In memory of, Karl Amadeus Mordo  
_ _1977 - 2022  
  
_

_You fought to live above your demons  
_ _And longed for the songs of freedom  
_ _At night I dreamt that you grew wings  
_ _In the morning before I woke, you took flight_


	10. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss. Stephen quite likes the way Karl's lips feel against his scarred knuckles. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)

"Come back," Stephen says. There's desperation in his voice, which resonates with the yearnings and frustrations of a lover who has plenty to say but not enough time to say them.

Patrons at the nondescript bar just outside Bucharest shuffle out one by one, some of them drunk, others quiet and forlorn. Between wiping washed beer mugs and cleaning the counters, the bartender repeats himself in Romanian. Stephen doesn't understand it but senses the urgency behind the syllables and intonation.

He turns to his companion perched on the high stool next to him. "I'm serious," Stephen says as he leans forward and places a tentative hand on the companion's arm. "Let me handle Wong and the others. They'll listen to me, even Jericho Drumm. Just like they did with her, it's the privilege of this title. They _must_ or I'll make them. I will vouch for you on my life and Karl—"

Stephen's rambling. It's one of the many unusual traits he's come to accept about himself in his companion's presence. Gone are his charms, his ability to smooth-talk his way to the finish line, his charisma, a carefully crafted web of eloquence and reserve — all of it replaced by a needy attempt to convince the other man to stay.

They've played the same game for a decade now, ever since their paths diverged in Hong Kong after they had saved the world together.

Stephen falls silent when Karl collects the hand on his arm, cradles it between his own dry, calloused palms — the hands of a revolutionary. An immovable object and an unstoppable force. A _killer_.

Karl brings Stephen's scarred, shaking hand up to his lips. The kiss is soft, almost feather-light but its weight is enough to sink Stephen to the bottom of the ocean. A glorious resting place, away from the travails his title commands. It ends as quickly as it begins, leaving Stephen's heart thrumming against his ribs. His throat feels parched but the bottles in front of them are empty.

"There's too much water under the bridge, Stephen," Karl says, without letting go of his hand. Instead, his lips once more press against the cicatrices over Stephen's knuckles, the stainless steel pins under the skin almost _shudder_ at the contact. "I do not want to add to the burden that already rests on your shoulders."

"That's not up to you to decide," Stephen says, clearing his throat. From his periphery, he notices the bartender has stopped cleaning and is watching them, instead. "I don't want to keep doing this. Meeting you in secret, lying to Wong about my whereabouts, this is all wrong. You belong at Kamar-Taj, it's your home. You've been away for far too long, Karl. It's time to come home."

Stephen studies Karl's face and holds his breath. He knows that look, had seen it cross the other man's face a hundred times before everything became irreparably broken — Karl's considering the proposition. With a little more pushing and nudging, Stephen thinks he can seal the deal and—

The bartender butts in. Though the words fly over his head again, the interruption gnaws at Stephen's chest. "Now what?" He asks, with little effort to hide the disdain in his voice.

Karl bites back a smile and finally lets go of his hand. "He wants us gone so that he can close shop and go home. Says there's a park down by the river, very popular among lovers and paramours, which we could visit instead."

A stray smile crawls its way up to Stephen's lips. "What are we? Romeo and fucking Juliet? This isn't some damn moonlit soiree for us to play hooky." He picks up one of the empty bottles and tips it over. Barely a drop of beer falls on the table's wooden surface. Stephen grunts with disgust. "Come on, I booked a room not far from here. Figured I might as well stay the night, it'd sell my excuse to Wong better."

Karl insists on paying the tab — Stephen jots it down as the eccentricities of a man who both loves and loathes his title of a Baron.

The gentle breeze outside nudges Stephen closer to Karl, until their hands touch and their fingers entwine, almost by instinct. Stephen pauses in his steps when Karl brings up their hands to his lips again. The kiss feels different somehow but Stephen's exhausted, booze-addled brain comes up short with explanations. He tempers his hope that maybe after ten years, two alien invasions and one apocalypse later, Karl has changed his mind, that he _is_ ready to come back, instead of leaving their rented bed at first light.

"I'll think about it," Karl says with a kind of sincerity that only he can muster. It's acquiescence, reassurance and a promise all rolled into five simple words.

Stephen lets out a breath he doesn't realise he's been holding in. Warmth spreads in his chest and slides down his spine, pooling in his guts. For all of his persistence over the years, he thinks this is the closest he's gotten to bringing Karl home. Karl's crimes, the sorcerers whose powers he took away, the men he killed—none of that matters even though Stephen knows it'll be an uphill battle. Even Wong's grown weary over time hearing second-hand details about Karl's crusade to rid the world of sorcerers.

"You know what? I'm going to take my wins where I can. If you say you're open to thinking about it, well, mister, I guess I just have to make my arguments more persuasive," Stephen says between a couple of shaky breaths, watching as Karl takes hold of his other hand, peppering both of his scarred knuckles with kisses.

For a moment, Stephen looks up and notices the moon overhead, shining down on them unobstructed in a clear, black sky—Stephen holds back a laugh. He thinks even Shakespeare couldn't have written a more satisfying comedy than this.


	11. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation. After helping to restore the universe, Stephen pays Karl a visit. (Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange)

The first thing Karl did after opening his eyes was to take stock of his surrounding: He was in his one-bedroom apartment atop the little pub he owned on the outskirts of Bucharest, next to the main highway. The south-facing window had been left open overnight to let in the cool evening breeze. Clothes lay scattered on the parapet floor, next to the bed, and alongside an empty wine bottle; used glasses stood perched on the nightstand, one of them too close to the edge. Karl reached forward to set it right before the glass toppled over. 

With a deep inhale, Karl listened as conversations from the sidewalk below floated in through the open window. He examined the scratches on his arms, he felt more of them on his back—his thoughts galloped a million miles a minute, his mind attempted everything in its power to ignore the presence of a soft, warm body next to him, at least until its presence became too obvious to ignore; until the person inhabiting the body woke up. 

"This was a mistake." Karl blurted out the words before he could stop himself, and as soon as they left his lips, he regretted it. Guilt rose in his chest when he turned in time to watch as his companion's face fell. Downcast eyes poked at Karl's conscience as the companion's bony shoulders sagged and a doleful sigh reverberated across the room. "I didn't mean—" Karl was cut off. 

"You meant it, and, it's—it's fine," the other man said, pulling up the sheets over his chest. He ran a scarred, trembling hand across his face. "It wasn't fair to drop in like that yesterday and dump all my problems on you. I am sorry, Karl."

The sincerity and regret in the companion's voice made Karl's stomach turn. Before he could second-guess himself, Karl reached forward as uncertain fingers caressed the other man's neck with practised gentleness. "Stephen," Karl said in nothing more than a whisper. "Your presence isn't unwelcomed here. I am sorry for what I just said." His tone remained even, hiding the way his heart thrummed against his chest, aching with desperation. There were things Karl had waited for more than half-a-decade to say, things he worried he wouldn't ever get the chance to say and now when he had Stephen within his reach—Karl berated himself in his mind. _Stupid. So incurably stupid._

"When Wong told me what happened, I didn't expect to see you again," Karl said once he had a grip on the inferno of pent-up emotions that raged in his mind. "There was so much chaos afterwards, so much confusion. People disappeared without warning, governments fell in a blink, society collapsed, but all I could think of was how much I didn't get to tell you." He sounded earnest, his eyes bore into Stephen's, and the perennial fire that burned behind them diminished. The dam broke and words poured out; as if Karl worried he wouldn't get another shot at it. In the forty-seven years of his life, second chances had always been a rarity. Spending a lifetime being on the run, trying to survive, thrive, taught Karl to leap at an opportunity whenever he spotted one. And, so, he did. 

"I left Hong Kong feeling betrayed by what she had done. Her actions went against everything she taught me. She made me swear to never let my baser instincts get the better of me, to never give in to temptations of power, and yet—I was confused. Angry. Then, I watched you disappear into the dark dimension and I didn't know what to do." Karl hated the look of understanding in Stephen's eyes, still a brilliant shade of grey, imprinted onto Karl's memories from the nights they lay together in Kamar-Taj, on a bed that used to be too small even for a single adult. "She always told me to trust you, and perhaps I did, we could've stopped the calamity that followed." 

Stephen shifted nearer until their foreheads touched. Up close, Karl saw something else in Stephen's eyes: maturity, earned through years of pain and suffering, silent despair hidden in the depths of the irises that worsened Karl's guilt; not just for the thoughtless words he had uttered moments earlier, but, also, for leaving seven years ago, so soon after an unexpected victory. If he had known then the _true_ price Stephen paid for their win, then perhaps—

"You couldn't have known," Stephen said as if reading Karl's thoughts. "I told Wong the truth _months_ after you left, after we gave up all hopes of you ever coming back to us." Stephen stroked Karl's cheek with the back of a scarred hand. "You stood your ground. If there's one thing I can admire in a sorcerer, it's his commitment to his ideals."

Karl avoided Stephen's gaze. Silence hung heavy in the air, punctured occasionally by the sounds of cars zooming down the street below and the excited chatter from passers-by. "I lost my way for a while," he said, still not meeting Stephen's eyes. He _couldn't_ meet them, not when his insides felt like melting from the heat of his shame, his guilt. If anything, he expected his confession would drive the other man away from his bed and his life, and that chapter of his life, without a doubt the _best_ part, would close forever. Maybe, Stephen would hand out justice for Pangborn and the others Karl had hurt, maybe they would relieve him from the burden of living, maybe—"I took Pangborn's magic. Told him he didn't deserve it because _I_ judged it to be unnatural for him to walk. There were others too. I am...I am ashamed. I have spent so long trying to run away from the shame my family brought onto this world, I didn't realise I became just like them, just like Krowler. Stephen, I hurt people because I thought they did something that went against my philosophy. I _wish_ I could take that back." 

Stephen listened. Karl searched for signs of anger, betrayal, _disgust_ in the other man's features, but, to his surprise, he found understanding and— _love_? That didn't seem right. As Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen was responsible for keeping balance in the world, to protect it from magical threats. Karl expected him to be furious, he expected to be dragged back to Kamar-Taj in chains to stand trial, to receive judgment: Death, or _worse_ , imprisonment. Locked up in chains, with the keys thrown away, and kept hidden from the world for the rest of his miserable life. What Karl _didn't_ expect was for Stephen to lean closer, to press their lips together in a kiss that made Karl forget to breathe. The moment felt like a dream, one that he didn't want to wake up from, especially after he felt Stephen's coarse fingers grip the back of his neck, light yet firm, warm yet soothing. 

"Why aren't you angry? You're supposed to be angry, you're supposed to yell, you are supposed to—"

Stephen silenced him with another kiss, longer and more desperate than the last. When they pulled away for air, the other man _finally_ spoke. "I knew what you were doing before Thanos came." The admission startled Karl and he shifted away from Stephen on instinct. His eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if Stephen was playing some kind of a sick, cruel joke, to give Karl a glimmer of hope before snatching it from him, like he had snatched the magic from others.

The night before, Stephen had stumbled into the pub, just as Karl was ushering the last of his patrons out the door. Wounded and desperate, he had begged Karl to pour him a drink and play him a song like it'd be his last. In hindsight, it was as theatrical as Karl would've expected from someone like Stephen, but at that moment he was too stunned by the other man's return from being dead to protest. They didn't speak much: Karl wiped the tables and glasses while Stephen nursed his drink at the counter. Afterwards, Karl had brought Stephen up to the apartment to stitch up the wounds and one desperate, life-affirming kiss led to another until they tumbled onto the bed.

"I was not angry, Karl." Stephen continued as his hand trailed down to Karl's shoulder. "I was disappointed that you had lost your way, but, you came back on your own. You righted your wrongs. Pangborn came to see me after you gave him back his magic and I wanted to seek you out but before I could do it, I—"

"You died."

Stephen flashed a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I had to plan my death to save the universe. I knew you and I could wait. Our reconciliation wouldn't have meant anything if we all died in the end." The hand returned to Karl's neck once more and he relaxed into Stephen's touch. He remembered how beautiful the other man looked whenever he smiled, with genuine affection, and it left Karl breathless. 

"Is that what we're doing? Is this reconciliation?" 

"It can be," Stephen said as he stole a quick peck against Karl's lips. "Only if you make me breakfast right now and since the world isn't ending today, I am going to make you take me around the city. And when you're ready, it doesn't have to be today, but when you're ready, we'll talk about your return to the Order because Karl, I am not the only one who's missed you."

Karl nodded before he realised what he was doing. Of _course_ , he'd make Stephen breakfast, eggs with bacon, the greasier the better, his favourite. Then, he'd take Stephen to all of the quiet, hidden spots around the city, where they'd hold hands and maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to heal. Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over at [Tumblr](http://presidentrhodes.tumblr.com).


End file.
